


Temperance

by JhanaMay



Series: Arcana [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28117731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: Through everything, Dean has always been there for Sam, but now Dean seems to be hanging on by a thread. It's time for Sam to take care of his big brother.Set after The Slice Girls (7x13)
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Arcana [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551187
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Temperance

Water still drips in slick rivulets down Sam’s chest as he comes out of the dingy motel bathroom. He’d taken an extra long, super hot shower to get the fetid ghoul juice out of his hair, but Dean is still sitting at the little table in the corner right where Sam left him. The level of the rich amber liquid in the bottle next to him is noticeably lower, though. Dean’s eyes are glassy with either exhaustion or pain—or both—and he doesn’t react when Sam throws his duffle on the bed nearest him to dig out some clean clothes. 

The rain is still coming down in sheets outside the window, turning the streetlight glinting off the old Buick they stole in Missoula into crystalline spears. Sam is glad they wrapped up the hunt before the worst of the storm moved in. There’s nothing else on the horizon, so they can wait out the worst of it.

“I thought maybe you’d be at the bar,” Sam says when Dean still hasn’t acknowledged him by the time he’s dressed. Both the bar across the street and the silence have been pretty much par for the course since they left Seattle and the monster masquerading as Dean’s daughter. The hits just keep on coming, and Sam isn’t sure Dean has much more in him before he breaks.

Dean grunts and takes another swig from the bottle. Despite downing half of what Sam is pretty sure was a full bottle of whiskey thirty minutes ago, Dean’s shoulders are still tense and desolation rolls off him in waves. 

Sam starts to reach for him but pulls back at the last second. Time has changed so much for them. After finding out first hand what it means to live without Dean, Sam has accepted the fascination his brother holds for him. Dean is his world, and Sam is perfectly okay with that.

Things have been so strained, though, that he’s not sure Dean even cares anymore. Ever since Death shoved Sam’s soul back into his body, Dean hasn’t made even the slightest overture toward intimacy. Sam isn’t sure if Dean can’t forgive him, or if he just doesn’t even think about it. Sam, on the other hand, thinks about it at least a hundred times a day.

“Shower’s free,” Sam says, lingering at Dean’s back with hands curled into fists. It would be so easy to touch him. “Still had hot water when I got out.”

“Yeah, in a bit.” Another mouthful follows the husked out words.

“I could run across the street and bring back burgers while you’re showering.”

“Not hungry.” Dean covers his face with his hand and rubs his forehead. He tilts his head slightly and looks up at Sam out of the corner of one bloodshot eye. “But you can go if you want.”

No way is Sam leaving Dean to wallow by himself. He’d been hoping another hunt would snap Dean back to himself, but the ghoul was a milk run. Dean barely broke a sweat and went right back to moping as soon as they made it to the car. With the Leviathan on the loose, everything has been a shit show for so long that Sam is at a loss for how to make things better for Dean. 

With no other ideas, Sam gives in to what he really wants. What he’s been aching for. Tentatively, he runs his hands over Dean’s shoulders, gently kneading and squeezing through the soft, worn flannel until his thumbs come to rest against the base of Dean’s neck. He rubs small circles into the tense muscles as he steps in so Dean’s head can loll back against his stomach.

Rather than relaxing into him as Sam had hoped, Dean shrugs to dislodge his hands, turning in the chair to glare at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sam throws up his hands and steps back, but the bed behind him cuts off his retreat. “You look exhausted.” 

“It’s been a shitty couple of months,” Dean counters, eyes narrowing.

It really has been. Losing Cas and then Bobby and now this thing with the Amazons reminding Dean of the child he already lost, the child Sam cost him. Sam isn’t sure how Dean is still standing.

“I know,” Sam says, trying to keep his voice even and calm. Sam reaches out again, but Dean shoots out of the chair so fast that Sam’s fingers barely graze his cheek before he puts distance between them. 

“Knock it off,” Dean snaps. The little muscle in his jaw twitches.

Months of pent up frustration erupts, honed to a razor edge by watching Dean pick up women and drown himself in booze rather than turning to the one person who can actually understand what he’s going through. “What?” Sam bites out, letting bitterness creep in. “I’m not allowed to touch you unless we’re fucking?” 

Dean goes stock still, and he blinks a few times before his expression goes cold. “Where is this coming from?” His voice is so calm and controlled it’s practically a flashing neon sign that he’s anything but.

“I’m right here.” When Dean just stares at him, Sam repeats with more force, “I’m _right_ here, but you just look through me. How many women have you picked up in the last few months? But you can’t even bear to touch me.”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he snaps, “I’m trying to do what you want.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, and he glares at Sam.

“Dean—”

“I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“Jesus, Sam. When you touched me. When you kissed me and, fuck, dropped to your knees without me even asking and—I should have known something was wrong. That _you_ were wrong.”

It takes Sam a moment to figure out what Dean is talking about, then it all comes back in a rush. Sam’s skin goes hot and then cold all over, and he wants to puke. One of the first cases they worked together after Sam crashed back into Dean’s life, the lamia in Wisconsin. Running high on adrenaline after the kill, Sam had practically attacked Dean in their hotel room. He’d known that Dean was with Lisa, but he hadn’t cared. Hadn’t even particularly cared that it was Dean. He’d just wanted to get laid. Hell, that wasn’t even the worst thing he’d done when he’d been without his soul.

Sam steps around the chair Dean had flung between them. “I know it was wrong,” he says, unsure how to ever make that up to Dean, “and I’m s—”

“Wrong?” Dean snaps with a harsh laugh. “Fuck, I don’t know how you even look at me now. I took advantage of you. All those times we—” Dean takes a ragged breath, his face flushed. “Dozens of times, Sam. Dozens of times before I realized things weren’t right... before I found out you didn’t have your soul.”

A trickle of confusion oozes through Sam’s self-loathing. Why is Dean talking like _he_ did something wrong? “You think _you_ took advantage of _me_?”

“You would never have done that if you were in your right mind.” Dean covers his face with both hands and shakes his head before throwing them down and stalking across the room, putting more distance between them. “I know that! I know you never wanted me, us, the same way I did. That you thought it was wrong. But I was so fucking happy to have you back, man. I was so happy that you were there and alive and, fuck, I just wanted you so much, so I ignored that it was so out of character you might as well have been possessed.”

There’s so much in Dean’s outburst that Sam nearly gets lost sifting through it. “You didn’t—” He takes a few steps toward Dean, hand out as if he’s coaxing a wild animal, and Dean is so skittish it may as well be the truth. “Dean, I’m not mad at you for that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dean’s chest heaves with each uneven breath. “You never wanted this.”

Sam has a split second to say the right thing, and for the first time in a long time, he knows exactly what to say. “I want it now.”

“What?” Dean stops pacing and stares at Sam.

“Maybe at first, right after—” Sam swallows hard. Even after all this time, it’s hard to talk about her. “After Jess, I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand what was happening between us. I was pretty screwed up back then, but Dean, the stuff I did—that we did—when I was soulless. That’s not on you. That was one hundred percent me.” He takes a few steps toward Dean, and in his daze, Dean doesn’t back away. “In some ways, it was more me than ever before because I wasn’t hung up on what people would think and society’s rules and all that stuff. It was never that I didn’t want you. It was that I didn’t think I should.”

Dean stays rooted in place long enough for Sam to finish closing the distance, but when Sam reaches for him, he flinches. “And now?”

Sam clasps his hands to keep from grabbing Dean anyway. “I don’t know if I’ll ever completely let go of caring what people think, but, dammit, Dean. In Canton, I was terrified I’d lost you again. I can’t keep doing this, keep almost losing you while also lying about what I really want.”

Desire is something Sam has seen on Dean’s face countless times, but the absolute, unadulterated longing in his eyes is new. “Sam,” he says, voice thick and raspy.

“Will you let me make love to you?” Sam holds out his hand, gratified to see it’s barely trembling, and waits for Dean to respond.

At first, Sam is sure Dean is going to mock him for using those words. They’ve fucked. They’ve screwed. They’ve gotten off together. They’ve never made love. Dean doesn’t make love. Maybe with Lisa, but even then, Dean probably wouldn’t call it that. 

But Dean just looks from Sam’s hand to his face and back again, eyes wide and heartachingly open. He swallows hard and reaches out to take Sam’s hand. 

Sam leads him to the bed and Dean doesn’t resist. It feels like a win.

Dean’s breathing is quiet at first, almost as if he’s holding it in, but Sam doesn’t let that deter him. He pushes the unbuttoned flannel off Dean’s shoulders and slides his hands up under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt. Dean’s abdomen jumps when Sam skims his palms over warm skin, and he lets out a shaky breath as Sam begins to push the fabric up. 

There are new bruises Sam hasn’t seen, new scars he hasn’t felt under his fingertips, but he doesn’t linger. Not when Dean is stretched so thin he might snap at any moment and shove Sam away. As if in a fog, Dean raises his arms when the shirt bunches around his chest and lets Sam slip it over his head. 

Ignoring the pounding thrum of his pulse, Sam drops his hands to Dean’s belt before he can be deterred. “Sam,” Dean breathes on a ragged inhale, and Sam distracts him by slotting their mouths together. The smokey burn of the whiskey coats Sam’s tongue when he parts Dean’s lips and licks inside. He swallows Dean’s groan and unfastens the belt as stealthily as he can, using every trick Dean has taught him to distract him. Dean’s erection presses against the front of his jeans and he sighs into Sam’s mouth when the zipper finally parts. 

Reluctantly, Sam breaks the kiss, but he trails his lips down the long, hard line of Dean’s chest as he slips to his knees. He hooks his fingers into the waistbands of denim and cotton and peels both jeans and briefs down at once, and Dean lets out a soft gasp when his cock springs free. The head bobs right in front of Sam’s face, tempting, but Sam refuses to let it distract him from his mission. Rather than wrapping his lips around Dean’s dick like he wants to, Sam pushes him back until he sits on the bed so he can work Dean’s boots and socks off, then pull his clothes off his feet.

Sam sits back on his heels to study his handiwork. No matter how many times he sees it, he’ll never get tired of looking at Dean’s body. Sure, Dean is lethal in a fight, beauty and grace in his movements, but this is what takes Sam’s breath away. Absolute stillness, naked, cock hard and dripping, the watery light from the single lamp painting shadows into the peaks and valleys of his muscles. Dean is a work of art. 

After a few moments, Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Sam swallows his smile. “Like what?”

“Like I’m some kind of prize.”

Lips tilting up, Sam leans in to kiss him again, hands cupping Dean’s cheeks. “You are some kind of prize,” he whispers against Dean’s mouth, then deepens the kiss when Dean’s lips part to protest. Once Sam is sure Dean has given up trying to argue, he trails his lips across Dean’s jaw and licks into the hollow under his ear. Dean’s breaths come faster, choppy and rough, and he moans softly when Sam worries his earlobe between his teeth.

Dean’s hands tangle in Sam’s t-shirt and he tries to haul it upwards. “Fuck, Sammy, come on,” he says, trying to lean into the wet suction of Sam’s mouth and divest Sam of his clothes at the same time. “You’re wearin’ too many clothes.”

Sam lets him struggle with the shirt for a few moments before taking pity on him and raising his arms so Dean can pull it over his head. As soon as it’s gone, Dean tugs him in again and kisses him as if Sam is providing his last gasp of oxygen. Sam lets him control the kiss for a few moments, reveling in the way Dean’s body strains against his, but when Dean reaches for his belt, Sam pushes his hands away.

Dean lets out a soft whine. “Dammit, Sam.”

“Uh uh, it’s my turn.” Sam pushes him backward. “Just lay back and let me drive.” 

At first, Dean resists, but Sam pushes harder and eventually, Dean scrambles back onto the bed. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see,” Sam says with a smirk.

Crawling onto the bed next to Dean, Sam stretches out on his side, propped up on one elbow while his other hand smooths up and down Dean’s torso. Each time his hand dips below Dean’s belly button, he tenses and shifts his hips up as if he can direct Sam’s hand lower with the power of suggestion.

“God, I love looking at you like this,” Sam whispers reverently. He circles his fingers around first one nipple and then the other and watches as they pebble, loving the light flush spreading across Dean’s chest. Dean makes a soft keening noise in the back of his throat when Sam leans in and drags the flat of his tongue over the one closest to him. 

“You’re a fucking cocktease.” 

Dean’s stomach muscles tensing is all the warning Sam gets before he tries to sit up. Sam spreads his hand wide on his chest and pushes him back down, then slips it down, following the fine trail of hair leading to Dean’s dick and wrapping his hand around it. He gives it one quick, cursory stroke and chuckles. “Oh?”

“Fuck you,” Dean breathes, but the way he pushes up into Sam’s touch takes all the bite out of it. 

“Not tonight.” Sam keeps his tone even and conciliatory and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when Dean does actually growl. He moves his hand up and down Dean’s dick a few times, keeping his grip light and teasing.

Dean reaches for him, and sparks of pleasure dance across Sam’s scalp when Dean curls his fingers into his hair and yanks on the strands. Sam’s cock throbs against the tight confines of his jeans. He lets Dean pull him in for another soul-shattering kiss. He almost forgot how well Dean kisses, with little nips of teeth and just the right amount of pressure.

When they finally part, Sam is breathing hard and Dean looks justifiably smug. He shifts his legs so his thigh brushes Sam’s throbbing cock and smirks when Sam groans. “Got a problem there, Sammy?”

Sam doesn’t bother to answer, just pushes himself up and shifts lower on the bed so he can swallow Dean’s cock in one slick movement. Dean jerks like he’s been shot and grabs for Sam’s hair again, but this time it’s to hold his head in place as he raises his hips off the bed. The head of Dean’s cock bumps the back of Sam’s throat, but Sam is ready for it. They don’t do this a lot, but if there was anything good that came out of the year he spent soulless, it was lots of practice in exactly this situation. 

With minimal gagging, Sam relaxes his jaw and lets Dean pump into his mouth a few times before bringing his hands to Dean’s hips to pin him to the bed. He pulls off slowly, pausing for a sharp suck at the head before tonguing down the underside. Dean’s hips shift restlessly and he reaches for Sam again.

“Come on. Either suck it or fuck me.”

Sam places a kiss right on the head, tongue dipping into the slit as he pulls off, and shoots Dean a reproving look. “Make love. Not fucking.”

Dean flushes scarlet, red creeping down toward his collarbones, and groans. “Sam.”

With a kiss to Dean’s hip, Sam rolls off the bed and stands up. “I mean it,” he says, quickly undoing his jeans and stripping naked. He strokes his dick, trying to make it look idle instead of a sign of how close he is to losing his tenuous hold on his willpower, as he crawls back onto the bed and settles between Dean’s spread legs. “My head is finally in the right place with this and I’m not taking it for granted.”

Sam kisses Dean again to stave off any argument and rolls his hips, sliding their cocks together and reveling in the friction. This whole encounter has been an exercise in self-control, and Sam’s is slipping. He wants to be inside Dean yesterday. “Are you going to let me get you ready?” Sam asks, nudging Dean’s head to the side with his so he can run his tongue across Dean’s jaw and down his neck. Two days’ worth of stubble prickles his lips, and Sam wonders what it would feel like pressed against his inner thigh.

“Don’t need it.” Dean’s voice is strung out, rough like gravel and half a pack of cigarettes.

Sam thrusts against him, harder this time. “I know you don’t, but maybe I want to. Maybe I want this to be different than it’s ever been for you before.” _Maybe I don’t want to hurt you just because you think you deserve it._ Sam clamps his lips shut before those words can slip out. No matter how far Dean has let him push tonight, that would bring the whole thing to a crashing halt.

Dean’s breath stutters and he shakes his head, but he doesn’t fight when Sam rolls off him to dig the lube out of his pants pocket. “You planned this,” Dean accuses when Sam rejoins him on the bed. He lets Sam spread his legs wider and shivers when Sam presses a lubed finger to his entrance.

Ignoring the accusation entirely, Sam focuses on sliding one finger inside Dean’s body. He pumps a few times, very slowly, very gently, then adds a second finger and bites back a smile when Dean curses. Attention torn between the slick, hot grip of Dean’s body and his own aching dick, Sam presses a line of kisses from Dean’s hip to the base of his cock. “You feel so good,” Sam murmurs. “I can’t wait to be inside you.”

“If we ever get to that part,” Dean grouses but his thin, shaky breaths give him away.

Sam slides two fingers out and adds more lube before slipping back in with three. Dean does moan this time, but he stops trying to move his hips when Sam braces him with his other hand. Spreading his fingers apart carefully, Sam rubs his thumb around the rim to feel the way it spreads thin to accommodate him. 

When Dean is stretched to his satisfaction—and Dean’s endless bitching—Sam crawls over him again and slicks his cock up before pressing the head to Dean’s entrance. “You’re buying me a new bottle of lube, dude. I think you used the whole thing,” Dean snipes, but his words cut off on a strangled sound when Sam pushes inside in one long, slow thrust. 

For a moment, all Sam can register is heat and the tight grip of Dean’s body around him. He almost forgot how good it feels, how right. He leans down and kisses Dean, going for dirty but probably hitting somewhere closer to reverent. Dean prefers to be on his knees with Sam fucking him from behind, but this is Sam’s favorite position. When they’re face to face and there’s no chance that Dean can pretend he’s someone else. 

“If you don’t start moving, I’m going to stuff your duffle full of pictures of clowns every day for the next mo—”

Sam cuts him off with a kiss but complies. Setting a slow, smooth rhythm, Sam rolls his hips with gentle movements. He slides in and out of the gripping heat of Dean’s body, inch by excruciating inch. Every nerve ending in his body screams at him to quicken his pace, to thrust into Dean with abandon, but Sam forces himself to take his time. He pulls almost the whole way out, the head of his cock catching on Dean’s rim, and then pushes back inside in one long, continuous moment. He punctuates each thrust with a thorough exploration of Dean’s mouth.

At first, Dean fights him. He bucks his hips to try to get Sam to fuck him harder. He bites at Sam’s lips to turn the kiss from tender to dirty. He scratches Sam’s back and mutters filthy things under his breath. Sam ignores all of it. He keeps his motions gentle, his kisses soft, and his words warm and affectionate. The passion ebbs and flows, pleasure building so gradually that Sam is nearly at the edge before he realizes it. 

“I love you,” Sam murmurs against Dean’s cheek, eyes closed to give Dean an out. He holds his breath, lips pressed to stubbled skin while he waits for Dean’s reaction.

Dean’s breath catches, and he doesn’t answer for a long time. Sam continues to move in him, continues to show with his body what Dean may never accept in words. But Dean surprises him. “I know,” he whispers back, so soft and low that Sam almost misses it. “Me, too.”

Sam’s heart aches at the fear he hears behind the ragged words. He hates that Dean is afraid of feeling, or at least afraid of giving voice to it. It probably wouldn’t seem like much of a concession to most people, but to Sam, the acknowledgment and acceptance of his declaration is the equivalent to Dean taking out a front-page ad in the New York Times. 

This time, when Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s hips and bucks against him, Sam responds with a harder thrust. Their movements go from poignant to frenzied in an instant. As Sam pulls out and slams back into Dean with increasing power, he braces himself up with one hand flat on the bed next to Dean’s shoulder and shoves his other hand between their bodies. He wraps his fingers around Dean’s dripping cock, and his hand slides through the smeared pre-come on both their stomachs. Dean grunts when Sam picks up his pace, matching his strokes to the rhythm with which he’s pounding into Dean.

“Yeah, fuck,” Dean pants, each word punched out of him by a bone-rattling thrust. Rather than looking away when Sam meets his eyes with his own heated gaze, Dean stares right back. “Right there, Sam, right there. I’m so close.”

“Wanna feel you,” Sam breathes against the shell of Dean’s ear. “Let me feel you. Come for me, come on.” His own orgasm is rising, heat pooling in his balls and radiating outward, but he’s desperate for Dean to get there first. 

Sam squeezes on the upstroke while angling his next thrust. Dean’s entire body quivers and his eyes go wide as his cock pulses, coating Sam’s hand. The rhythmic clenching around his cock drags Sam closer to the edge, but it’s the love and trust and absolute conviction in Dean’s eyes that pull him over. 

He thrusts in one more time, burying himself as deep as he can in his brother’s body, and lets the pleasure wash over him. Wave after wave of physical release leave him shaking and breathless, but it isn’t nearly as momentous as the euphoria of being in Dean’s arms again. He’s almost lost Dean so many times, almost lost any chance for this. 

For so long, he’s been frustrated at Dean’s fear of emotional attachment, but Sam feels sick with the hypocrisy even as his body goes limp in the aftermath of his orgasm. He’s been just as terrified, just as unwilling to bend. He’s never making that mistake again.

Dean’s body squeezes him with gradually fading aftershocks, and he’s loath to pull out. He tries to hold his weight off Dean as long as he can, but eventually, the strain is too much. He wipes his hand on the comforter next to Dean’s head and pulls out as gently as he can. Dean still winces when he slips free.

Sam leaves him boneless on the bed and goes into the bathroom for a washcloth. After he cleans himself up, he pauses in the doorway to study Dean stretched out on the bed. He looks debauched. Smeared come cooling on his stomach, legs spread wantonly, and scattered bruises rising across his chest and up his neck where Sam got overzealous at the end. His hair sticks up every which way, and his eyes are sated and drowsy. He looks utterly used, and Sam lets himself enjoy the possessive pride that swells in his chest. 

He did that. He left Dean looking like that.

On the way back to Dean, Sam turns down the comforter on the other bed, and once Dean is cleaned up, Sam bullies him into changing beds. Rather than joining him, though, Sam sits on the soiled bed and watches him cautiously. He knows they need to talk, and if he joins Dean in the bed, the warm, reassuring weight of him will lull Sam to sleep. 

“What are you doing?” Dean grumbles, rolling over on his side to face Sam. “I’m beat. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Soon,” Sam counters. “But I have to say some things first.”

Dean groans. “Come on, man. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be a bitch about this now.”

“You don’t have to talk or anything,” Sam says with a shrug, “but I need to say this.”

“Goddammit, Sam.” He rolls over onto his back and throws one arm over his eyes. “Fine, get it out of your system.”

Sam tries not to let Dean’s attitude bother him. “I want this,” Sam says, picking his words carefully. He knows from experience that the wrong turn of phrase will shut Dean down immediately. When Dean lifts his arm a smidge and side-eyes him, Sam continues. “I want this to be more than sex.”

Now Dean throws his arm off his face and frowns. “I’m not doing lovey-dovey shit with you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sam rolls his eyes. “I just want to be able to touch you or kiss you when we’re not having sex.” At Dean’s instant scowl, Sam quickly adds, “Not in public, but in a hotel room or in the car. You can’t tell me you and Lisa didn’t touch when you weren’t in bed.”

At Lisa’s name, Dean’s scowl deepens. “For the first six months after you—” He swallows hard. “After,” he repeats firmly. “I could barely stand for her to touch me at all. We weren’t making out in the front yard if that’s what you mean.”

Sam lets that sink in. With everything that has happened since he got his soul back, he hasn’t really thought about what the months right after he jumped were like for Dean. His stomach roils with the thought that Dean was so screwed up that he couldn’t bear being touched. When he was with Jess, they casually touched or gave each other quick kisses in passing constantly. “I’m not talking about making out or holding hands or anything like that,” Sam assures him even though Sam would take it in a heartbeat if Dean offered. “I just mean if I walk past you on the way to the bathroom, I want to be able to steal a kiss or touch your arm without you shoving me away.”

Dean is silent for a while, but eventually, he nods. “Okay, fine,” he announces as if he’s granting Sam an enormous boon that he isn’t happy about, “but only when we’re alone.”

“Of course,” Sam says mildly, but inside he’s celebrating what feels like another huge win. He might as well press his luck. He takes a deep breath and blurts, “No other guys. I’m not going to ask you to give up women, but—”

“Done.”

“Dean.”

“I said it was done. No dick but yours. Got it.”

Feeling like the concession was way too easy, Sam almost continues to question, but it doesn’t seem worth ruining the mood. He clicks off the lamp and slips under the covers beside Dean. Tentatively, he settles Dean’s body against his chest, tensing while he waits for Dean to pull away. Instead, the unrelenting rigidity drains out of Dean’s muscles as he relaxes into the embrace. 

“This isn’t cuddling,” Dean says, pulling Sam’s arm tighter around him and molding his body to Sam’s.

Sam smiles into the dark. “Of course not.” He buries his nose in the short hairs at the back of Dean’s head and falls asleep with the smell of sweat and sex and Dean surrounding him. 


End file.
